


and you know you're a terrible sight (but you'll be just fine)

by swimthewholeriogrande



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Established Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago, F/M, Hurt Jake Peralta, Hurt/Comfort, References to Drugs, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-08 18:45:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17986616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimthewholeriogrande/pseuds/swimthewholeriogrande
Summary: nice to know my kind will be on my side





	and you know you're a terrible sight (but you'll be just fine)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Hype by Twenty One Pilots
> 
> Just to be clear, if you suspected someone has been drugged, TAKE THEM TO THE HOSPITAL!

Something's wrong. 

Amy can tell as soon as she turns her head that something is not quite right. Her and Jake are undercover at this dive bar near the precinct, playing the doting couple (which is easy now that it's real) to stake out a drug ring using the bar as a front. She'd left him talking to a group of men to subtly interrogate the bartender, but when she looks back something is - off. 

Jake's posture is slumped, barely upright, like his elbows on the table are the only things keeping him anyway vertical. His head hangs; she sees his fingers fumble slowly, lazily, at his phone. He looks drunk - but Jake would never drink undercover. Neither of them are stupid enough to risk exposure like that. So Amy knows he's not drunk, but what is it then? She tries to keep composure, keeping just the corner of her eye on him, but then she hears one of the men laugh - a cruel, nasty laugh, and she abandons the bartender and heads over. 

"Jake?" she asks and she approaches, and then "Jake!" because when he raises his head his mouth is slack, hanging like he can't close it. The men part to let her through, still chuckling, and she spins to glare at one of them.

But before she can interrogate them Jake is suddenly tipping off his chair with a weak, kittenish sound. She darts forwards and catches him and can feel against her neck how sleek and damp with sweat his hair is. He breathes loud and slow against her, almost a complete dead weight as he struggles to get his feet under him.

"A...my." He's slurring, like his tongue is ten sizes too big for his mouth. Jake's hands are clumsily knotted in her shirt as she staggers under his weight, and Amy needs to get them out of there right now.

"What did you do to him?" she snarls, desperate and terrified now. A crowd is starting to draw; someone offers to call and ambulance and Jake gags suddenly but nothing comes up.

The men are starting to look on edge with all the attention. "He can't handle his liquor," one of them laughs awkwardly, even though she knows he isn't drunk. "Bring him home." 

"No, you -"

Jake's breath is stuttured and slow on her neck. "Home," he mumbles. "Home, les'go, I wan' go home."

She can't help him in the middle of a bar, especially since they're still undercover. Amy turns her back on the men with some reluctance, filing their faces away, and half-carries Jake out the door. She's furious and she wants to hurt them all, because she knows they did something to Jake, but there's nothing to be done now but try and get Jake somewhere safe.

When the cold air hits their faces, Jake pants and groans. Amy shakes him gently when his eyes slide shut. "Babe," she says as calmly as she can, already flagging a taxi to get them the hell out of there, "what's going on? What happened?"

Jake's feet slip out from under him for what feels like the hundreth time. "Mmm," he tries, but there are no words and Amy feels sick. She wants to call Holt, the hospital, his mom, but more than anything she wants him to be Jake again.

The taxi ride is a blur. The driver keeps looking in the mirror at them, eyes wide and almost as anxious as Amy knows her own must be, and Jake is drooling down his chin, his hold on her wrist weaker every second. 

"I got..." Jake speaks up suddenly and Amy jolts to attention. "I got a...I got a Sprite but it tasted...wasn't."

Amy closes her eyes briefly. "Did they roofie you?"

Her voice is clear and strong. There's a beat, the growl of the engine. Jake nods against her shoulder and the taxi driver coughs and says, "Want me to call the cops, lady?" And Amy almost laughs when she says no because hey, they _are_ the cops, and clearly that doesn't even keep them safe.

It takes almost ten minutes to get Jake up one flight of stairs. With every passing moment he gets heavier, until Amy's arms are burning, and when she finally staggers into the apartment she has to all but sling him onto the couch.

His eyes are heavy-lidded and whirling, some deep terror behind their glaze. "Pl's," he groans, while Amy stands and pants and stares at him in a kind of horror. "Don' feel well."

"I know." Amy replies automatically. She kneels down so that she's eye level with Jake where he's prone on the sofa and strokes her cheek. She sees his throat move when he swallows. "Jake. I think I need to call an ambulance."

His eyes open wide suddenly, flaring with panic, and he nearly fails off the couch. "No!" he yells. "Amy, s'fine, don't...don' wanna go. S'okay."

She wants to cry or scream or both. "Alright," she soothes with some reluctance, pushing his hair off his forehead, "alright, babe." Her mind is racing; if Jake is breathing fine, albeit slowly, was it worth causing him all the panic of a hospital visit? But what if he got worse?

"Amy." Jake's hand is uncomfortably hot when he pokes her hand; he is weak and malleable as a doll, his breath sour. "Wanna go home."

Amy smiles tightly, a dam against a flood. "You're home." she promises. Jake swallows thickly again, and she is terrified. "You're home."

-

Amy stays on her knees beside the couch until the sun rises, watching Jake's chest rise and fall and rise and fall and - _oh God did he stop breathing? Did he just die on their couch on their apartment?_ \- fall.

Jake makes mumbling unhappy noises in his sleep, twitching and drooling on the sofa, but when his eyes finally flutter open around eight in the morning they're at last clear and bright. Amy's almost dozing when it happens, but she startles up within a moment.

"Jake!" she yelps, almost apoplectic with relief. "Babe, how do you feel? Do you want some water? Do you -"

Jake's forehead creases and he shifts suddenly, cutting her off. He looks like he does when he's just home from an overtime shift, so tired that all he can do is curl up beside her in bed and pass out. "We were at the bar," he says slowly - at least the slur is gone - "and then, I don't remember, I don't..." He looks afraid but he laughs a little, like he's trying to play it off. "Why don't I remember?"

Amy swallows. Her teeth ache up through her jaw. _Because life is just not good to you,_ she wants to say, but instead she smiles painfully and takes his hand. "It's a long story," she murmurs and when she tells him, slowly, hesitantly, she does not let go.


End file.
